


roadside promise

by iamthemagicks



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: 1980s, Brother-Sister Relationships, Gen, HIV/AIDS, M/M, Road Trips, a look into the aids crisis, healing through music and driving, slight angst with happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-01 01:32:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18790309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamthemagicks/pseuds/iamthemagicks
Summary: Snafu and Eugene, and Hamm's sister, steal Hamm's ashes before they can be interred in the family plot. Hamm, who hadn't spoken to his parents since he discovered he was sick, couldn't care less about spending eternity with the family. So, Snafu and Gene, along with Hamm's nurse and his sister, embark on a cross-country road trip to San Francisco to spread his ashes.





	1. running up that hill

**Author's Note:**

> This fic does take place during the AIDS crisis. There is frank discussion of the disease as well as how patients were treated.

**Tuesday, nineteen-eighty-something**

Hamm died on a Sunday and his parents had him ready to be buried by Tuesday. There were some religions where you had to wait a certain amount of time before burial, or you had to do it even fast than a day-and-a-half, but the quick turnaround, in this case, had nothing to do with religion, though you wouldn’t be able to tell by the lavishness of the funeral. 

Mrs. Hamm and Mr. Hamm, Sr. arranged Hamm’s funeral in one of the largest Catholic churches on the block. They even managed to close it off to the public tourists. Most of the people filling the pews were distant family, all there to comfort Mrs. Hamm. His friends were there, behind the distant family. And then behind the childhood and school friends sat Eugene, Snafu, and Dion Twist, Hamm’s primary nurse during his hospital stay. Mr. and Mrs. Hamm liked Eugene and Dion well enough, but Snafu was one of the unfavorable friends that their Michael had picked up during the war. They didn’t want Dion up front because they didn’t want people knowing their only son was gay, much less that he died from AIDS. 

So, it was closed casket, because he’d gotten especially gaunt the last few weeks, his white-blond hair had grown thin, his bright blue eyes dull and almost pink. Two very visible lesions crossed his face, one above his eye, the other under his chin. The telltale signs of his disease. 

Snafu was working particularly hard at keeping quiet about his displeasure with Hamm’s parents, and Eugene was proud of him. Hamm’s parents had said little to their son after he came out them, and less than that when he discovered he was sick. He was one of the luckier ones; some treatment and pain killers kept him going for a while, a lot longer than a lot of fellas got. It was only the day before Hamm’s death did his parents see him after his sister, Shelby begged and begged. Shelby had been the one that was by his side the longest, she was even there when he finally passed. It was quiet, she told them. He’d been unconscious for a while, and then finally stopped breathing.

Shelby sat up front with her parents and grandparents. Eugene didn’t blame her; he’d also been told he was welcome closer to the front, but he needed Snafu to hold his hand and needed that shoulder to literally cry on. 

Eugene had been doing fairly well that whole morning, even as he got frustrated with his tie and almost gave up tying it (Snafu did it for him), even on the subway ride over as the other passengers stared at them with sympathy upon seeing their black suits. But when they got into the church and found their seats (four square pegs isolated from the crowd) and Eugene caught sight of the glossy, white coffin at the front of the church, the sob in his throat rose and he started crying. Snafu pulled him into a quick embrace, letting him cry and snot all over the sleeve of his suit. “It’s okay, Gene,” he whispered. “He’s gone onto a better place.” 

As the ceremony proceeded, he held tight to Eugene’s hand while participating. Raised Catholic, Snafu knew what to say when, the right time to get on his knees and then rise back up again. Eugene, a Baptist, mumbled through the words meant to be said back to the priest. He noticed Snafu grinning and trying to hide it. 

“I feel like I’m in a different room,” Snafu mumbled as they all sat and Shelby came to the front at the pulpit. “She looks like an ant.”

Shelby, a year younger but almost six inches taller than her brother, beautiful blue eyes pink, white hair coiffed with elegant pins and bands, stood two feet away from Hamm’s closed casket. A hideous, white thing, that shimmered in the light coming from the highest windows of the building. 

“Michael was my other half,” she said into the mic, her voice raw and trembling. As far as Eugene could tell, she’d been crying nonstop since Sunday. “I didn’t think anyone could love him as much as I did until he was sick and people came to visit. They sent him flowers and cards, his favorite candy, one of his friends even sent him mixtapes of his favorite songs to listen to.”

Snafu smiled inwardly, eyes cast down, and Eugene squeezed his hand. A DJ, Snafu had access to almost any song and artist that anyone could want. He spent weeks complying two mixtapes for Hamm and even gifted his favorite walkman and headphones. 

“A lot of people didn’t even know Michael was sick,” Shelby continued. “And that’s fine, he didn’t tell distant friends or family. He tried to keep up a happy face. For me, for the hospital staff. Even Mom and Dad when they came. Only on the night before he died.” Though Eugene sat in the far back, he could see Shelby’s tight grip on the edge of the pulpit at that sentence. “They didn’t come until the night before he died.” She shook her head, scratching at the wood. Her chin shook and a tear from each eye slid down her cheeks. She stared at the paper in front of her, then over at Hamm’s coffin, eyes aflame, hands ready to flip the pulpit down the aisle like Wonder Woman. 

“She’s gonna do it,” Snafu whispered to Eugene. Dion sat on the other side of Eugene and leaned forward, the three of them ready to eat popcorn at the spectacle that Shelby could make.

But Shelby composed herself, loosening her grip on the pulpit and taking an audible breath before speaking. “So, I thank all of you for being here for him now.” She cleared her throat and wiped under her eyes before retreating back to her seat, touching the coffin along the way.

The priest said some more words that the parishioners repeated back. They were asked to close their eyes in prayer, and kneel. Eugene did as asked, though he kept his right eye open to watch Snafu. Surprisingly, he was also doing what the priest said and even had his rosary clasped in his hands, going over the beads. 

“Michael will be interred in the family plot tomorrow morning,” the priest announced. He tossed some holy water on the casket and himself before walking out of the room. Mr. and Mrs. Hamm stood, Shelby and her grandmother, at Hamm’s coffin to receive the visitors and mourners. 

“I’ll do it,” Snafu said as they eased themselves from the floor into the pew. “I’ll be the one that makes the scene.”

Dion touched his knee. “Don’t. They’re guilty enough of is it,” she said. She wiped under her eyes before blowing her nose. While she hadn’t watched Hamm die, she’d seen plenty of her patients go, most of them alone and abandoned by family. “They’ll feel guilty their whole lives.”

Snafu snorted and crossed his arms. “Good.”

Eugene tilted his head to rest on Snafu’s shoulder. “We can be mad later,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s just be nice to the grieving parents and then we can leave.”

“Fine.” 

They waited for the crowd to thin before joining the last of the line. Odd friends and acquaintances, none of whom Eugene recognized. Dion went first, getting a little teary-eyed when she embraced Shelby. 

“You’re so brave,” Dion said. Eugene watched Shelby’s face soften as she pressed her chin to Dion’s shoulder. She closed her eyes to inhale Dion’s scent, a heavy, flowery perfume that had been bothering Eugene all day. 

“Thank you,” Shelby said, squeezing her waist tightly. “He was lucky to have you.” 

To Eugene, it looks like Shelby wants to kiss Dion, and maybe she does, but Dion steps aside to be polite to Hamm’s parents, telling Mrs. Hamm how sorry she was. “It wasn’t painful,” Dion promised. “There at the end. He just went to sleep and never woke up.”

Mrs. Hamm, a prim and proper WASP nodded at Dion and shook her hand. She said little to Dion, and Mr. Hamm, Sr., the Catholic, said even less, merely thumbing his rosary. Eugene glanced to Snafu’s wrist where he’d wrapped his beads and cross. 

“Eugene,” she said when he stepped forward, Snafu on his heels. She took his hand in her own and offered him a hug. “I do wish you would have sat closer, dear.”

She smelled like old flowers and aqua net hairspray. Eugene untangled himself from her embrace to stand closer to Snafu. “He’s shy, Mrs. Hamm, you know that,” Snafu said, with a gum-smacking grin. “He ain’t Catholic, he doesn’t know all the right things to say or how many times to get on his knees.”

Mrs. Hamm clenched her jaw but nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Shelton. I’m sure Michael would have liked that you two were here.” She already started to greet the next person. Snafu shook his head and rolled his eyes, tugging Eugene by the arm. Eugene followed, still lost in a fog of grief. 

When Snafu reached down to lace their fingers together, Eugene heard Mrs. Hamm audibly scoff and whisper something to her husband. Eugene glanced back to see the horrified look on her face. Did she really not know? Or was she just upset at the gay sign of affection in the house of God? Eugene just held Snafu tighter, and leaned over to press a kiss to Snafu’s temple. He thought Mrs. Hamm was going to have a heart attack right then and there and Eugene couldn’t help but grin as Snafu led him towards the church doors. 

At the exit, Snafu stopped to dip his fingers in the marble basin of water, then made the sign of the cross over his body before continuing. Eugene copied him, then wiped his hand on his trousers. 

On the steps of the church, Snafu sat and broke into his cigarettes, giving one to Dion next to him. She lit the cigs and they both exhaled long drags of smoke into the sky, taking away by a gust of wind. “We could go to the house,” Snafu said. “Get lunch, cause a scene.”

“Are you packed?” Eugene asked again, lowering himself to a stair. Snafu offered him a cigarette which he declined.

“Yeah.”

Eugene narrowed his eyes. “Borrowing my clothes ain’t packing.” 

Sanfu grinned. “Sure it is. I like wearin’ your shirts.”

“Then I have nothing to wear.” He leaned back on his palms and looked at the gray clouded sky. Hamm would have liked the overcast weather, good for taking pictures, and he was always forgetting his sunglasses. 

A small flock of pigeons cautiously approached, cooing and bobbing their heads, looking for a snack. Eugene found a broken pack of crackers in his pocket from the last time he’d worn the suit, probably a different funeral. He ripped open the plastic and threw them the crumbs.

Snafu took a drag of the smoke, thoughtfully. “I’ll finish up when we get home.”

“We’re leaving early tomorrow.”

He sighed. “I know.” 

The truth of it was, neither of them would probably sleep that night. 

The three of them stayed on the stairs as the precession of family came out of the church, followed by Hamm’s casket, carried by six men that Eugene didn’t recognize. Probably cousins who hadn’t spoken to Hamm in years. 

Snafu exhaled smoke slowly and made the sign of the cross again as the coffin passed. It was loaded into a hearse while Mr. and Mrs. Hamm, and Shelby entered a fancy black car behind it. 

“You worried about what we’re doin’?” Snafu asked.

“ _We’re_ not doin’ anything,” Eugene answered, keeping his eyes on the hearse and cars that followed as the hearse pulled away from the church. Other funeral guests stood at the curb, kicking at stones and checking their watches. “Shelby’s handling that part.”

Dion tapped her feet against the brick steps. “I have to get to work soon,” she sighed. More dying patients to face, Eugene guessed. She was stronger and braver than he’d ever be. “What time are we leaving?”

“Like, six a.m.,” Eugene answered.

“Christ,” she muttered, standing. “Looks like I’ll be sleeping the first half of the drive.”

Eugene chuckled. “So will he.” He nudged Snafu in the knee. 

She bid them goodbye and started in the direction of the subway. Eugene and Sanfu stayed on the church stairs while Snafu enjoyed a second cigarette. “Let’s go home,” Eugene said, setting his head on Snafu’s shoulder. “I just want to hang out the two of us before we go over to Ed’s.”

“Anything for you, _cher_.” He said it like it was a chore, but smiled all the same. 

They rode the subway back to Queens and had to walk three blocks from the nearest stop to their tiny apartment. Three cats greeted them as Eugene opened the door. He pushed them aside with his foot as Snafu squeezed in behind him. The cats liked Snafu better than him as if they knew he’d always been a dog person.

Halfway to the bedroom, Snafu was already removing his tie and jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. He tugged at the buttons, frustrated.

“You’ll rip it,” Eugene called, setting the keys down in a bowl on the counter. He passed the kitchen and the living room, down the narrow hallway that ended at their shoebox-sized bedroom. 

Snafu kept tugging, his hands shaking. Eugene reached to gently take his wrists, rubbing both thumbs over the bones and veins. “You’ll rip it,” he said again, softer. 

“I hate this shirt,” Snafu said, voice quivering. When he blinked, tears dripped from his apple-wide eyes. He was very good at reigning in emotions like sadness and tenderness while out in public. He’d been born tough and hard, he told Eugene. He had to be, with a daddy who liked to drink and liked to hit. But he had a kind and loving momma, so underneath Snafu’s rocky shell, there was warmth and love that he’d never show the world. 

Eugene started to unbutton for Snafu, pulling just the tiniest bit at the resistance. “I know.” 

“I wasn’t nice to him,” Snafu said.

“You’re not nice to anybody.” Eugene reached the bottom of the shirt and pushed it off Snafu’s shoulders. 

He kind of smiled at that, tilting his head and biting his bottom lip. “He was dyin’, I shoulda been nicer.” 

Eugene kissed him, tugging at the tank-top to pull it over Snafu’s head. “That wouldn’t’ve been you and he liked you the way you were.”

“Bullshit.” 

Eugene tossed the shirt and Snafu started working on his tie and buttons, the belt of his pants. “He didn’t want pity.”

The conversation deconstructed and ended as they finished removing each other’s clothes and moved to the bathroom. “Baby,” Snafu groaned as he fumbled behind him in the shower for the knobs. 

“Yeah?” Eugene answered, kicking off his shoes and socks and following into the stall. The water came out cold at first (expected) and Snafu huddled against the tiles until it warmed; Eugene closed the curtains behind him, crowding into his space, keeping him pinned in place.

Snafu raked his fingers up Eugene’s ribs, scratching, making Eugene shiver and push his whole body against Snafu’s, both of them half-hard, rutting back and forth against each other. “I don’t wanna be sad right now,” he whispered, just over the blast of the shower. 

Eugene nipped at Snafu’s bottom lip. “Me neither.” 

He had Snafu pressed against tiles, biting his shoulder, one hand on Snafu’s hip, the other gripping his hair. They said filthy things to each other, _fuck you’re so pretty like this, snaf. give it to me harder sledge,_ and afterward, they spent a good time washing each other. The warm water and soapy fingers were almost enough to get Eugene going again, but he wasn’t twenty anymore. 

All dried and changed into boxers, Snafu lay stretched out on the bed in a pile of pillows, surrounded by the cats, and smoking a clove cigarette, looking like a pharaoh. In the shitty apartment lighting, his tan skin almost looked yellow, but his dark hair dripping with water droplets shined like a fairy’s crown. If he’d been a few years younger, Eugene probably could’ve gotten it up again. Instead, he was packing, suitcase on the desk in the corner. 

“I want to wear the BOC shirt when we get there,” Snafu said, exhaling above the cats’ heads. 

Eugene raised an eyebrow. “Is it clean?”

“Yeah, bottom drawer.”

Incredulously, Eugene checked the bottom drawer of their shared dresser and did, in fact, find the band shirt that Snafu wanted. He also grabbed his nearly identical shirt, remembering the summer they’d all gone to see Blue Oyster Cult at Madison Square Garden. It was right before Hamm found out he was sick. 

Eugene’s throat flutters a bit as he grips the fabric between his fingers, still all his movements. 

“You okay, Sledgehammer?”

The old nickname pulled Eugene out of his trance and he dropped both shirts into the suitcase. “Haven’t heard that one in a while.” Not since Vietnam, where almost everyone had a nickname. 

“That’s the face you make,” Snafu continued, mimicking Eugene’s frown and knitted brows. “Serious as a heart attack.” 

“Hmm.” Eugene answered as he continued packing. Left to his own devices, Snafu would wear the same jeans and t-shirt until he spilled sauce or oil on them. He changed his socks and underwear though; but they were going to be stuck in a Buick for almost a week with two other people, so Eugene packed two pairs of jeans for the two of them, eight shirts, and he just grabbed fistfuls of socks and underwear to squeeze in on top. He stuffed their toiletry kit in an outside pocket, filled with toothpaste, toothbrushes, floss, deodorant, and cologne. He wasn’t bothering with razors or shaving cream. _I like you scruffy_ , Snafu always told him.

He dragged the suitcase to the living room to drop it by the door. In about an hour, they’d take the cats a few blocks over to his brother’s house, then go pick up Dion from her shift at the hospital. After that, they’d go wait in the alley behind Nat’s Family Funeral Home for Shelby.

As they ate dinner (leftovers) and watched Jeopardy, Eugene thought about the war and how Hamm almost died then. A bullet ripped through his side, knocking him onto his back. Eugene thought he was dead, and when he bent over Hamm to grab dog togs, Hamm popped up with a gasp, also seemingly surprised that he was alive. 

It would have been better, Eugene thought, if he’d died there in the jungle, quick and painless, gray skies above his head, instead of withering away in a hospital, constantly in pain. 

“You’re thinkin’ again,” Snafu said, placing a piece of chicken on Eugene’s leg for one of the cats.

“Don’t do that, they’ll think they get people food.”

Snafu chuckled. “They do get people food.” Snafu kissed his cheek. “Stop thinkin’ so hard for the night. Got a whole week to think about things.”

Eugene sighed and nodded, sinking into the cushions of the couch. By this time tomorrow, they’d be loaded into the car with Hamm’s ashes, heading to San Francisco, for his final resting spot.


	2. with or without you

**Wednesday, nineteen-eighty-something**

Dion was the only one of them who had a car. They lived in New York City, who needed a car with the transit system? But Dion worked at different hospitals in different boroughs, and sometimes out of state as far as Connecticut. She was also very vigilant about her surroundings, not wanting to bring in anymore outside germs into her patients’ rooms than necessary. They’re dying from little things, really, she told them. Colds, flu, pneumonia. Stuff you can generally fight off, but they can’t.

In the back seat of her red Buick Skylark, Dion sat sideways, leaning her face against the headrest, closing her eyes. She was dressed in tattered blue jeans and a Blondie t-shirt, her curly hair still pulled into a high ponytail from work. Eugene watched her from the driver’s seat in the rearview mirror. 

“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s creepy to stare?” she asked, eyes still closed.

Snafu chuckled before taking a drag of his cigarette. He dangled a thin arm out the window in an overdramatic fashion. “I tell him all the time.”

“I ain’t staring,” he said, taking his eyes away from the mirror. He opened the center console for his pipe, packing the sweet tobacco before snagging Snafu’s lighter from his front pocket. “She’s been in there a while.” He puffed and chewed on the mouthpiece of the pipe.

The car sat in the alleyway behind the funeral home and a pizza place. The dumpsters smelled of discarded oil and cheese, and Eugene could only hope that the other rotted smell wasn’t coming from the funeral home. 

“They aren’t open yet,” Dion explained, finally opening her eyes. She glanced at their surroundings. The sun wasn’t even up, the only light coming from a single lamp at the front of the alley, making everything look like something out of an old detective movie. Eugene felt more like a criminal in a getaway car, despite what he told Snafu the previous night about Shelby being the one doing the shady dealings.

“Isn’t the perk about bein’ rich is that people do anything for you?” Snafu took another movie star drag from his cigarette before flicking into a puddle. 

Eugene puffed on his pipe, knowing Snafu aimed the question slightly at him. He’d grown up rich and privileged, a plantation-style house in Alabama, with servants, masquerades and cotillions. His backyard had once been a cotton field, the guest house the slave quarters, the latter two things always making him queasy. But war changes a man, and after finding Snafu, Burgie and Hamm, too, he didn’t want to go back home. He wanted the small shitty apartment with Snafu, the city life where they could hold hands and not always have to worry. They could be anonymous, but in their community, nothing like he ever had at home.

Snafu reached over to start playing with the knobs of the radio, going through stations only playing classical music. “This all you listen to, Dee?”

“Well, what do you play this early in the morning?” she sighed, pressing fingers to her temple.

He scoffed. “You know, good music?” 

“No one wants to hear Robert Johnson at five a.m.” 

“ _Blasphème_ ,” he chided before stopping when he heard Bono coming from the speakers. “This alright with everyone?” Eugene and Dion nodded, Snafu eased back into the seat. He was a DJ with one of the local rock stations, the midnight to six a.m. shift. The owner of the station liked the drawl of Snafu’s accent and taste in music. He’d served in Vietnam as well, almost not making it out of the Tet Offensive. 

_On a bed of nails she makes me wait,_ Bono sang. 

The air between the three of them grew cold as if they were passing by a freezer. Maybe Hamm was there, Eugene thought, sitting in the back with Dion, enjoying the music. He’d read about paranormal encounters. People reported cold spots, feelings of unease or comfort (depending on the spirit, he supposed), electronics acting wonky. There was nothing else out of the ordinary as they sat and waited, just the cool air between them. With or without you, went Bono.

After Snafu got through a second cigarette, the back door to the funeral home flew open, cracking into the wall of the building. Shelby stood on the porch, shaken by the sound, gripping tightly to a white box in her hands. Tears had already washed her jet black mascara and neon blue eyeliner down her face. She wiped at her cheek with a hand as she started to walk towards the car. 

Dion sat up and opened the car door for Shelby. She loaded herself in, still gripping the box to her chest. She dropped her oversized purse onto the floor and let out a choked sob as she wiped her face.

“It’s okay,” Dion said, pulling Shelby forward for a hug. Snafu turned around to put a hand on her shoulder. He was always tender in ways that other people wouldn’t see. 

“That crook wanted more,” Shelby said, pushing back from Dion’s embrace. She wiped her eyes again, smearing makeup all over. Eugene was sure that she looked just like Madonna that morning. “That’s what took so long. I refused and I told him that I’d go to the health department or whatever. And he didn’t budge.”

Snafu flicked his finished cigarette out his window as he turned around, opening the door.

“What are you doing, Snaf?” Eugene called.

“He can’t treat her like that.” Snafu gestured to Shelby. Snafu was always ready for a fight, ready to defend the honor of someone. 

Shelby leaned forward. “I got him, Merriell,” she said. His face softened at the use of his given name. Eugene only used it when they were in bed, and he’d heard it used over the phone from one of his sisters. “Get back in the car.”

Snafu did as he was told. “He can’t treat you like that,” he said again.

Shelby smiled and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “When the health department thing didn’t work, I told him I’d go to the press with a tip that they were leaving body parts in the dumpsters.”

While Snafu and Dion cracked wide grins, Eugene looked behind them to the dumpsters, horrified. “That ain’t true, is it?”

Shelby burst into laughter. “Of course not! But how long do you think it’d take for a funeral home to recover from that kind of rumor?”

“You’re evil, I fucking love it,” Snafu said with his trademark grin. 

“I got him back,” Shelby said again, placing the box on her lap. She ran her fingers over the smooth corners and the top, as if she were running her fingers through Hamm’s hair again. “Alright, Gene, let’s get out of here.”

Eugene made eye contact with her in the rearview mirror; her pretty blue eyes rimmed pink and red, her bottom lip trembling. She bit onto it to make it stop. He nodded and started the car. “Yes, ma’am.” 

He pulled into the light morning traffic, heading out of the city. Snafu shifted his seat back into an incline while lighting another cigarette. Eugene looked in the mirror again, watching Shelby lean her head on Dion’s shoulder while gripping Hamm against her chest. Dion kissed the top of Shelby’s head before closing her eyes.

“I’m sleepin’ after this one.” Snafu gestured with the cigarette in his hand. He tilted his head to exhale out the window, watching the smoke quickly disappear. “Wake me in about an hour.”

“Sure.” Eugene would drive until he had to pee, which would probably be almost two hours at the most. As the sun rose, the light reflected off the window panes of the high rise buildings, and people started filing out of their homes towards the subways and cabs. 

He thought about the quiet mornings at home, the frogs and cicadas quieting from their nighttime songs, birds starting to wake and flutter through the trees; sometimes he heard the neighbors’ roosters and chickens, and his own dog would jump on the bed to make sure he rose.

Eugene liked the quiet morning in the city too, even though it was the city that never slept, there were those few hours where things were calm, and just for him. Now, in the car, making his way out of the thick of traffic, it was for him, too. Shelby and Dion falling asleep with tears in the backseat, and Snafu finishing his cigarette, quietly, watching the buildings. 

At a stop light, Eugene reached over for Snafu’s hand and kissed his wrist. “I love you, Mer,” he said, staring at him until Snafu looked in his direction. 

His moon-wide eyes the color of a mountain lake, his lips cherry red from the Slurpee he had for breakfast; he smiled and leaned over the console for a kiss on the mouth. The light turned green and the car behind them honked three times before Eugene flipped him off and pulled forward. 

Snafu chuckled, settling back in his seat. He used one of Eugene’s flannel shirts for his neck. “I love you too, Gene.” He yawned and closed his eyes, grip becoming loose in Eugene’s fingers.

Eugene reached to turn up the radio and kept on. 

_With or without you_ , Bono went on, the drum beating along with with Eugene’s heart.


End file.
